lifeline
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Rating: T+
Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, uh kind of, he can actually barely stand to be touched at the moment so, Tim does his best, Good Sibling Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Past Rape/Non-con
AO3 link: here
Summary:
At a low moment, Dick thinks he needs to catch Tim, and he just - can't.
Tim catches him instead.
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After Blockbuster, after Catalina, after Bludhaven: Dick finds himself lying in bed at the Manor, staring up at his ceiling with slightly sunken eyes. He listens to the rain pound outside and curls his fingers in his sheets, slowly tightening his grip against the vertiginous slide of his mind out of his body.
The door creaks. Dick tilts his head carefully to keep his brain from sloshing out his ears. Squints at the light spilling into the room, the figure in the doorway. Too small for Bruce or Alfred.
Tim.
After Stephanie, after Tim's father, after Superboy: Dick knows the dark circles bruised under Tim's own eyes. He knows Tim needs his support - needs Nightwing, needs his older brother. Dick should sit up. Beckon him in. Fold him into a hug.
Get up, Grayson.
But he can't stand the idea of Tim looking at him right now, while he's feeling paralyzed, broken open. He knows his guts aren't actually showing, but Tim's eyes can make him feel that way, just as easily as Bruce. He's still so young. He shouldn't have to see Dick's messy insides.
He needs to be alone. He can't be Tim's support right now, he thinks. He doesn't have enough strength for himself, let alone someone else.
It's raining.
He stares blurrily at Tim's motionless silhouette, limned in the syrupy sconce lighting from the hallway. What is he even going to say - no? (a tiny, nasty little voice hisses.) Go away, Timmy? I can't handle hugging my little brother right now? I'm too weak, too selfish, too fucking broken to even offer you comfort when you're grieving so many terrible losses?
Weak - useless - failure -
He hears himself make a ragged sound, breaking above the downpour outside. Shards cutting his lungs on the way up.
Tim's shape lurches forward, shutting the door behind him and dropping the room back into cool darkness, and oh no, no. Tim really can't see him like this. Dick twists away toward the wall, one hand covering his face, his hot, swollen eyes. The other presses tight against his chest, like he's putting pressure on a wound, like if he pushes down hard enough he can stuff the jagged noises back down his throat.
The bed dips behind him as he shivers, chokes. A warm body hovers close against his back, radiating heat but not quite touching. Dick curls up tighter and tries to hold his gulping breaths, bracing against poisonous memories, ghostly sensations that…that…
…That don't come.
Instead - it's Tim's forehead, resting light between his shoulder blades. Tim's arm, cautiously encircling him until he can put his hand over Dick's own, on his chest. Tim's voice, murmuring into the dark.
"I've got you, Dick. I've got you, I've got you. What a shitty day. Shitty month. Shitty…long time, I guess." So very shit. Just, such absolute unrelenting shit. "You don't - have to be okay, y'know. I'm - I'm not really either, obviously, everything's all - everything's so fucked up, but. You're here, and I'm here, and Bruce is down the hall, and Alfred is downstairs, and - and I've got you, if you're falling."
Tim pauses, breathing, then actually sing-songs a little, pitchy and hoarse, "If you fall, I will catch you - right? Hah. You'd better know Cyndi Lauper." Does Dick know Cyndi Lauper? He's gotta be kidding. This ridiculous kid. Dick wants to cry. "That's me and you, okay? If you fall, I'll catch you. I'm here. I've got you."
Dick's held breath explodes from him in silent, shaking sobs. This is so fucking backwards. He should be strong enough to turn around, tuck Tim's head under his chin, hold him, not the other way around. But God, he can't - he doesn't deserve -
He grabs at Tim's hand, desperate, twines their fingers and squeezes until Tim's bones creak. Tim makes a quiet noise and squeezes back, anchoring him as best he can.
Ugly, wrenching noises keep tearing Dick's chest open; unpredictable, and louder than he would have ever wanted Tim to hear. His pillow gets soaked. But he doesn't let go. Tim keeps talking about nothing from safely behind him, voice low and steady, impossible to ignore.
They hold on to each other, a lifeline caught over the abyss. The rain slowly fades.
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Notes
Clarification just in case - Tim doesn't know about what happened with Catalina. He knows about Blockbuster and obviously about Bludhaven's destruction, but other than that, he's flying blind.
Wanted to write a little something where Dick feels viscerally negative about being vulnerable in front of Tim, about leaning on his younger brother in any way, because that is Just Not The Way Things Should Work - but it. turns out okay actually. maybe good, even, for a certain definition of the word that includes 'humiliating', and 'awkward', and 'god, he loves this kid so fucking much', and also 'let's never talk about this, please'.
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